Capitulo lagrimoso

Sì come al nascer piansi i’ vo piangendo,

E cusì pianger fin morte conviene,

Che in pianto un mal principio va sequendo.

Piansi in fasce, nel latte, & quando dieme

Nel petto il colpo Amor, piansi & hor piango

Per spezar quel che in duro pianto tieme;

La man con denti miei piangendo frango

Che nel dar fin son pigre al lungo pianto,

Del qual per pianger mai scarso rimango.

Piango perché nel ventre non fui franto,

Piango che fuor di quel nei teneri anni

Morte non posse il pianger mio da canto;

Piango quel dì che agli amorosi inganni

Lusingando fui perso; e piango il loco

Che fu principio dil mio pianto e danni.

Piange il solaccio, il suono, il canto e il loco,

Le rime e i versi; e piango il primo sguardo

Dove causò il mio lungo pianto e foco.

Piango perché non fu di tosco il dardo,

Piango perché né un serpe la catena,

Ché piangendo al morir non seria tardo.

Piango perché la fronte alma e serena

Non mi fu nel dur pianger di Medusa,

Ch’io sarei fuor di pianto e fuor di pena.

Piango la fiamma che gran tempo chiusa

Tenuta ho dentro il petto, e piango il laccio

Che piangendo mi fa l’alma confusa.

Piango il dur pianto, la ferita e il laccio,

Piango che uscir poeta di pianto amaro

Entrai piangendo qual huom scioccho e paccio;

Piango ch’io non conobbi il scur dal chiaro,

Piango che scorto fui da un finto aspetto,

Cusì piangendo ale mie spese imparo.

Piango senz’alma e senza cor nel petto,

Pien de pianto, suspir, de affanno e stento,

Dove piangendo stesso m’ho in dispetto;

Piango i miei tristi dì spesi in tormento,

Piango le notti che al fin scorto m’hanno,

E piango mie fatiche sparse al vento.

Piango il fidel servir mio senze inganno,

Piango mia pura fede, e il raro amore,

Piango miei persi pasi e il longo affanno.

I’ piango gli anni, i mesi, i giorni e l’hore,

Ché piangendo hanmi a cotal grado scorto

Ch’io son de pianto herede e senza core.

Piango il lungo martir e il gaudio corto,

Anci piango non altri che me stesso,

Che piangendo mi fei de vivo morto.

Piango che al tristo fin mi sento appresso,

Piango e piangendo in pianto più me accendo,

Ché per mio eterno pianto ha il ciel premesso

Che qual nacqui tapin mora piangendo.

--Giovanni Meli
Opera nova amorosa de Nocturno Napolitano

nb: the curious path to getting to Sicilian poet Giovanni Meli began with an article in the Guardian about how Bernardo Provenzano was finally tracked down after 43 years on the run.

Within the article it was mentioned that his wife was from Cinisi, which was "the muse of the renowned Sicilian poet Giovanni Meli, who has been in the small town between 1767 and 1772 to do his work as county doctor. There he composed some of his best lyrics looking at beautiful sea of Sicily that washes the coasts of cinisense coastal."



*****

Memories of Serge via the Guardian..


Serge and Jane Berkin, 1971

"We sat there patiently waiting until the air was suddenly rent with horrible screaming sounds followed by a cacophony of Gallic swearing. The owner of the cinema had just informed Gainsbourg in the lobby that he was entering a no-smoking zone and the great man had thrown a royal fit. Five minutes later he entered the room, his face lost in a dense fog of cigarette smoke - the owner was carrying a huge ashtray and stood next to him like his eunuch flunky catching the ash as it fell - and stumbled to the podium. He looked absolutely terrible - his face and body utterly polluted from alcohol abuse, his eyes ugly unfocussed slits, his voice a sneerful rasping whisper. He began to tell an obscene story involving Brigitte Bardot and a champagne bottle but he was too drunk to remember the ending so he staggered offstage, literally collapsing into a nearby seat. Everyone else gave him a standing ovation but I just sat there, stunned. I'd never seen anything quite like this: a beloved icon who'd lost all self-control and who was making an ignominious public spectacle of himself over and over again and yet his public wasn't repelled in the least. On the contrary, they couldn't seem to get enough of watching his continued self-abasement."

*****



Ultra Kultura specializes in alternative and extreme forms of literature. Sex and drugs feature prominently in its books -- but not much more so than in many recent Russian movies. It tends to favor anti-establishment authors, such as National Bolshevik Party founder Eduard Limonov. The head of the publishing house, Ilya Kormiltsev, is a poet with some cult standing, thanks to his work on the lyrics of the rock band Nautilus Pompilius. After the news broke, he challenged Chuyev to a debate on the talk show "To the Barrier," but the deputy declined, citing, among other reasons, his unwillingness to "advertise Kormiltsev and Ultra Kultura for a nationwide audience."